


Prospects

by madameofmusic



Series: 34 Days [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 34 Days Challenge, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Suicide, References to anxiety, References to canon-typical substance abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Zimmermann drops out of the draft. Kent Parson follows. This is what happens after.</p><p>(For Week 3 of the 34 Days Challenge: The Samwell Years)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: suicide, anxiety and depression are all mentioned fairly heavily in this chapter and will continue to be throughout the rest of the story.

Kent Parson wakes up in a hospital chair, knees curled to his chest. His arms are numb by this point, having propped them up against another chair so he had something to lay his head on for the past few hours.

He blinks against the harsh fluorescent light, and looks up. Bob is standing above him, holding out a cup of shitty hospital coffee. “He’s awake,” is all Bob has to say before Kent is up and out of the chair, straightening his clothing with one hand and chugging the coffee down with the other.

“How is he?” Kent asks once the coffee is gone and he feels more awake, ready to handle whatever happened to Jack.

Bob looks tired, drained of all happiness, and it’s heartbreaking. Kent’s never seen the man look anything but utterly cheerful and in love with the world around him. “He’s… alive.” Bob starts to lead Kent to Jack’s room. “He hasn’t said anything yet.”

Kent tosses the cup in the first trashcan they pass, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He feels another wave of guilt wash over him, and swallows hard past the lump in his throat. “When does he get out?”

Bob shrugs. “Whenever he wants to, I guess. They said he can leave as soon as he woke up, considering it wasn’t an attempt-” Kent sucks in a sharp breath at the word _attempt_ , feels nauseous for a moment. “-but we’re not going to make him leave if he doesn’t feel like he’s ready. It’s been a rough few days. He may need the rest.”

Bob’s voice is weighed down by guilt, and sadness.

Three days ago, Jack was drafted second, behind Kent. It didn’t mean anything, Jack was still light-years ahead of him, but the Aces hadn’t needed Jack’s particular set of skills. Any other player would have understood.

Jack wasn’t any other player. He’d accepted his Islanders jersey, smiled wide, and then had went home and OD’d the next day on Xanax. Kent found him, draped over the wall of the bathroom, pill bottle spilled beside him.

Kent couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault, even after both Bob and Alicia, more like second parents to him now than anything, had told him Jack had been going to therapy for anxiety since he was fifteen, that Kent was only Jack’s friend, he couldn’t have known. Tried to comfort him when their son was in a coma in the next room over.

Kent should have known. He’d seen the bottles, watched Jack pop four bars before every game. He’d noticed how Jack would get slow and quiet after the adrenaline wore off, how he never really seemed to be there the last half of their final season.

It scared Kent, but he hadn't known what to do.

“Son?” Bob’s voice snaps Kent out of his memories. The man looked worried, tension lines impossibly deeper than they had been moments previous.

Kent smiles a tired, half smile. “Is this his room?” He points at the room behind Bob. The man nods, and Kent pushes through the door, and into the small room. Alicia's sitting next to Jack, in the middle of telling him some story or another, meant to distract him. Jack isn’t smiling, but he is attentive, eyes bright and blue, more there than he had been in awhile.

Kent watches them for a second, and then clears his throat.

“Kenny?” Jack’s head snaps over, his eyes going wide. His face goes from calm and quiet to upset and angry as soon as he lays eyes on Kent. “You’re supposed to be in Vegas.”

Kent shrugs. “Not anymore.”

Jack pushes his blankets back, sitting up ramrod straight now. His hands tighten around the hospital comforter. “What do you mean ' _not anymore’?”_

Kent walks over, and takes the other chair next to the bed. “I told them thanks, but no thanks.” Kent reaches out to touch Jack, and winces when the other boy yanks his hand away. “Jack, look-”

“No, you’re _supposed to be in Las Vegas._ ” Jack says, venom dripping from his words, accent flooding back in and making his voice thick. “Why are you here?”

Kent frowns, feeling lightheaded. He figured Jack might be upset with him, or at least upset and using Kent as a punching bag for his feelings like he was occasionally apt to do. But not like this, unfiltered rage pouring out of him at the sight of Kent. “I found you in the bathroom, saw that you’d said no to New York-”

“Get out.”

Kent feels like he’d been punched in the gut. “What?”

“Get _out,_ Kent. Get out. I don’t want you here.” Every word Jack said was carefully pronounced, his voice clear.

Kent sits stock-still, unable to think, unable to _breathe_. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and then he’s being led out of the room. Bob shuts the door to Jack’s room, and pulls Kent into a hug. Kent feels tears dripping down his face, hears himself sobbing helplessly, but can’t for the life of him _stop_. Bob murmurs quietly to him, letting Kent cry.

When Kent finishes, Bob pulls back. “I think…” Bob starts, and then sighs. “I think maybe you should go back to New York for a bit, Kent. Spend some time with your family. Give Jack time to… heal.”

Kent nods, sniffing and scrubbing at his face. “Okay.” Kent takes a step backwards, eyes flicking up to meet Bad Bob’s. “Call me when he’s out.”

Bob squeezes Kent's shoulder, and then drops his hand back to his side, mirroring Kent's hands-in-pockets post, and Kent spins on his heel. He walks away, and forces himself not to look over his shoulder. He calls his mom, and she gets him the next flight out of Montreal. Kent turns his phone off, walks out of the hospital and into a waiting cab, and resolutely does not think about the way Jack had looked at him, with betrayal and anger, nothing like the way Jack had looked at him a week ago, with love and adoration, promising that they’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be continued. I intended to just write another one shot, but plot got me, and now it's gonna be longer. I don't know when I can update, but most likely it will be after the 34 Days and Kent Parson Birthday Bash challenges are over, so in a few weeks. 
> 
> Also, my knowledge of hockey's more nuanced rules and regulations are shaky at best, so if I've made any glaringly obvious mistakes, please, _please_ tell me.
> 
> Come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a solid month before Kent gets any word on Jack, and even then it’s just a short text, saying that Jack had been in rehab since Kent had last been there, and now he’s out. _Must have been a short rehab session,_ he thinks to himself as he reads over the curt message from Bob for the sixth time in as many minutes.

Kent’s replies for more information and his multiple calls after that go unanswered. He feels hollow every time he leaves a message. He slowly becomes used to the sound of Jack’s mailbox message, becomes used to not turning to look to his right every time he wants to whisper something funny to Jack.

The Aces let him know they’d still take him. He still says no. He still calls Jack.

Eventually, he stops leaving messages.

Eventually, he stops calling.

 

And then, Jack Zimmermann shows up on his porch a week before Thanksgiving, two months since the last text, and a month and a half since Kent had given up on trying to fix whatever he’d broken between them. Kent’s never seen him look so… _small,_ and young. Since the moment they met, Jack’s carried himself with a certain air. Even painfully shy, and not saying a single word, everyone in the room still knew he was there, knew what he did and how well he did it.

Now, Jack looks a bit like a kid, fitting considering he’s just shy of nineteen, and, for all intents and purposes, they’re both still kids.

“Jack?” Kent’s jaw hangs open, eyes bugged wide. “What are you doing here?”

He wants that to sound angrier than it does, feels like he should be able to accurately display the way he’s been feeling since Jack kicked him out of his hospital room in June. Instead, he feels like he’s floating, like this must be the beginning of another dream that ends in Jack shoving him out of his hotel room.

Jack responds. “I wanted to see you.”

Kent leans against the door frame. “I never would have guessed that.” He sounds bitter, hurt. He swallows, hard, and speaks again. “So you thought you could just show up after almost three months of radio silence and everything would be okay?”

Jack frowns, shakes his head. “Of course not. I-”

Kent sighs and holds up a hand to stop him. “You better come on in if we’re going to talk. It’s November. We’ll freeze otherwise.” He checks his watch as Jack passes, makes sure it’s still hours before his mom gets home from work and his sister back from school.

A ghost of a smile passes over Jack’s lips. “It’s not that cold.”

Kent rolls his eyes at Jack’s back and shuts the door. “Come on,” is all he says in response, leading Jack into the kitchen. “Want anything to drink?” He opens the fridge, eyes scanning over the things he finds inside.

Jack shakes his head again. “No. I can’t be here long. My mom thinks I’m at the bookstore across from her agency.”

Kent sighs. “Alright.” He pulls out a bottle of water for himself and takes a long drink from it before turning back to Jack. “What do you want?”

Jack winces at the harsh words and Kent wants to apologize, but also feels a petty sense of delight. Kent knows, intellectually, that Jack was hurting, probably still is, but the less sensible side is _angry,_ so angry, at Jack for disappearing on him for four months and then reappearing on his front porch step without even a phone call like nothing happened.

“I wanted to invite you up for New Year’s,” Jack says, words falling from his mouth, sounding rushed and a bit panicked.

Kent looks him in the eye, sees the way Jack’s hands are starting to shake. He resolves to keep his anger in check a little bit, because, for one, he’s bad at handling Jack’s panic attacks. He doesn’t understand them, and Jack always goes stone-silent when they happen, and refuses to talk about them after, so he never gets the chance to ask how he can help. And two, because Jack’s making an effort. Kent acknowledges he’s not the most sensitive human being, but if Jack’s willing to try, he should be too.

“Hey,” Kent mumbles, placing a hand over one of Jack’s. “I’d like that.” He sets his water bottle down and leans against the counter, hand still over Jack’s.

Jack still looks a bit wilder than he likes, but the look is dissipating. “Really?”

Kent nods. “Yeah. Just… text me the information, I guess. I’ll book a flight.”

Jack smiles. “Alright. Cool.”

Kent rolls his eyes again, but smiles this time, meeting Jack’s small grin with one of his own, until they’re both standing in his mom’s kitchen, smiling at each other like idiots.

He clears his throat, and then swats at Jack. “Get out of here, Zimmermann, before your mom finds you gone and yells at me.” He suppresses an involuntary shudder. “I don’t want her mad at me.” Angrily protective Alicia Zimmermann makes determined Jack look like a newborn puppy in comparison. Her anger was mostly directed at other players who checked Jack illegally when the refs weren’t paying attention, and sometimes coaches who deserved it, but Kent had never been on the receiving end, and he didn’t want to be.

Jack laughs and heads toward the front door. “See you, Kenny.”

 

As promised, Kent flies up to Montreal for New Year’s Eve. Jack’s there alone to pick him up from the airport, leaning against the luggage carousel. He has his collar pulled up around his face, and a toque tucked tight around his face, and sunglasses pressed as far up the bridge of his nose as possible. Other than that, he’s dressed normally, albeit a little light for the just-barely-14-degree weather outside. He’s getting looks, but they’re more of the “staring at an oddly dressed person” than the “recognizing a celebrity” flavor.

“Hey.” Kent drops his bag in front of Jack and grins at him.

Jack pockets his phone and picks up Kent’s bag. “Kenny.” He lifts the bag to his shoulder and turns a face towards Kent. “What did you pack in here?”

“All the finest rocks America had to offer.” Kent holds out a hand. “I can take it back. I wasn’t expecting you to pick it up. I just needed to set it down for a second.”

Jack shrugs. “It’s fine.” He walks towards the door of the airport. Kent tries to brace himself for the blast of cold air that hits him, but still feels his breath freeze in his chest when he steps out of the warm air of the airport. “Damn, it’s cold.” He mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and following Jack to his car. It’s not actively snowing, but Kent can see heavy clouds just past the horizon that he knows from experience will probably dump a few inches on them, at least.

“It’s colder in New York right now,” Jack says, turning his head just enough to arch an eyebrow at Kent.

“Yeah, but I’ve spent the last week cuddled up under every blanket in the house marathoning Desperate Housewives,” Kent says, shivering as a gust of wind comes by and blows through his thin hoodie.

“That sounds like a porno.” Jack unlocks the truck when they finally reach it after what feels like, to Kent, crossing the entire continent of ice hockey. “Also, you play _ice hockey.”_

Kent huffs and clambers in the truck. “It’s not a porno, Jesus. And that’s different. I had like, pads and shit to keep me warm.” He doesn’t bother correcting Jack’s use of the present tense. As far as Kent knows, he screwed his chances at the NHL.

Jack hops in after him and pointedly turns the heat all the way up once he’s got the truck started. Kent glares at him half-heartedly as his frozen fingers inch traitorously towards the vents.

The conversation between them on the drive back to Jack’s house is easy, and friendly. Kent spent the previous days leading up to this one worrying that it wouldn’t be, that they’d inevitably talk about something Big, and that Jack would tell him to leave again, and that was terrifying. Jack was Kent’s best friend, and Kent didn’t think he could handle that a second time.

He barely handled it the first time.

Jack parks in the driveway, in between a few other, way nicer cars than his beat-up pickup Kent knows he got for his sixteenth birthday. “Your uncles here?” Kent asks.

Jack nods as he hands Kent his bag, and shuts the back of the pickup. “And a few of mom’s friends.”

Kent wasn’t all that star-struck the first time he met Jack. In fact, Jack registered more as a shy, reserved kid who would end up being Kent’s best friend or his most bitter rival when they first met than a celebrity once-removed.

It was harder keeping his cool around all the hockey legends that frequented Jack’s house during the few holidays he’d been invited up for, or the random games they’d show up at it. He’d like to say he’s more collected around them, but the last time he’d been around Jack’s “Uncle Mario”,  he’d ended up spilling champagne down the front of his dress shirt and babbling about random shit to the man long enough that Alicia had taken pity on him and made him go find Jack under the pretense of getting a new shirt before the one he was wearing stained.

And those were just Bob’s friends. Alicia’s friends were all years past supermodels that were still beyond gorgeous and towered over him in high heels. At least he didn’t tend to babble at them, on account of his lack of speech ability last time one of them had asked about him and Jack’s last game.

Being surrounded by very famous, very pretty people didn’t phase Jack in the slightest.

Jack waves to his mom as they passed, and mumbles something to her in French, before leading Kent to his room. “She says we have some time before anyone will want to see us.”

“See _you,_ you mean,” Kent says as he digs through his bag in search of the dress clothes he brought. He pulls them out and grins triumphantly. They’d remained unwrinkled on the flight, and for that Kent’s grateful. Jack’s taller than him now, and broader, and both of them learned their lesson with irons and nice clothing in the Q threefold.

He tugs on the clothing and turns to face Jack. “S’this okay?” He asks.

Jack looks him over, and then nods. “Maman would be proud of your style.” Kent can’t tell if Jack’s chirping him, but judging by the smile Jack’s trying to stifle, Kent doesn’t doubt that the other man is making fun of him.

He flips him off and then goes back to digging through his bag for his tie. “Shut up dude. Not all of us can have supermodel moms with magazine cover worthy fashion sense.” He pulls out the tie and loops it around his neck. “Besides, at least I don’t dress like a dad on the regular.”

Suddenly he’s being pulled backward, and Jack’s hands are rubbing a rough noogie into his hair. Kent laughs, and kicks at Jack’s legs, trying to unbalance him. “I don’t dress like a dad!” Jack says, laughing too as he avoids Kent’s legs.

Kent snorts, and shimmies out of Jack’s grip, falling to the floor. “Yes you do, dude. All you own are pullovers and t-shirts with sports brand logos on them. And so much khaki, Jack, what the _fu-”_

Jack falls on top of him and they begin wrestling in earnest. _So much for no wrinkles,_ Kent thinks briefly as he tries to slip out of Jack’s hold.

There’s a knock on Jack’s door before Alicia appears. “Boys?” She looks at them and raises her eyebrows.

Jack sits up, grin on his face. “Yes, maman?” He settles back on his heels, letting Kent get up. Kent grumbles as he smooths his shirt down, and sighs when he realizes how rumpled it is.

“Don’t roughhouse in your nice clothing, Jack. You’ll make your father think it’s okay for him to do it too.” She has a teasing smile on her face, voice light. There’s something in her eyes, Kent can’t quite figure it out, but it looks almost sad.

“Yes, maman.” Jack says, standing and straightening out his clothing.

“Come down?” She says. Jack passes her in the doorway, and she makes him pause so she can straighten his tie and pat him on the chest. Jack, now almost fully grown, is just barely taller than her. They share a smile, and then he leaves the room to go downstairs.

Kent gets up to follow him, and Alicia stops him. “Kent.”

He looks at her and bites the inside of his cheek. Her expression is complicated, unreadable.

“Thank you.” She finally whispers, giving patting him on the cheek. “For coming here. Jack’s been so…” She trails off, eyes flicking over to the stairs. “Different. With you here, he seems almost the same as, well, before.”

Kent swallows past the tightness in his chest and nods. “Thanks for letting me be here, with him.”

She drops her hand and nods. “Let’s go have so fun, yeah? And Kent?”

He hums, and looks back at her from the top of the stairs.

“Try not to spill champagne on anything this time, okay?” She grins now, and Kent sees where Jack gets his chirping skills from.

 

The first firework goes off when it’s still a minute to midnight. Kent swirls the champagne in his glass and drains the last of it. They’re on the balcony outside Jack’s room. Jack’s leaning over the railing and looking down at where his uncles are making snow angels, his mom’s friends clustered nearby, twinkles of their laughter floating up to where he and Jack stand.

Jack finishes taking his picture and yells something in French down to his parents. The adults trial back inside, the men shoving snow down one another’s suits and mock shoving each other into the drifts. Jack pockets his phone and rests his elbows against the railing once more.

Kent sets his glass on the ground and angles himself so he’s facing Jack. Jack’s covered in a faint dusting of snow and his nose is a cherry red from the midnight air. “It’s almost the new year,” Kent says.

Jack turns to him, a faint smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Yeah.”

“Got any resolutions?”

Jack frowns and sighs softly. “Be… better.”

Kent frowns now too and scoots closer so he can set a hand on Jack’s arm. “You don’t need to do that. You’re already-” He stops, unsure how to finish without sounding cheesy. _Already good enough? Already perfect, already all you need to be?_

“You can’t be so hard on yourself.” He says instead.

Jack looks down at him, blue eyes wide, and sad. They make Kent’s heart hurt. “Kenny-”

“Shh,” Kent says, and then leans up until he’s nose-to-nose with Jack. Jack sucks in a breath of air, and then they’re kissing.

Kent feels Jack’s hand settle on his hip, and he hears the countdown to midnight begin downstairs, but it’s background noise compared to the way Jack’s cheekbones feel as he strokes his thumb over them, the way they come together like the last six months had been nothing but a bad dream. Like it’s July again, and they’re doing just this, in a hotel room the night before the draft.

Jack leans back first, pulling away just enough to press his forehead to Kent’s. His breathing’s gone ragged, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Kent’s thumb is still tracing the line of Jack’s cheekbone, his other hand curled softly in Jack’s silk shirt.

“Kenny, I-” Jack takes a deep breath, and then opens his eyes, meeting Kent’s gaze. He’s unreadable. “I can’t, here. Now.”

Kent nods. “Later, then.” He bites his lip and steps out of Jack’s grip. He leans against the railing once more.

Jack’s quiet, and then, “Later.” He says, but to Kent, it sounds a bit like _not anymore._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say unnecessary angst???
> 
> This took a lot longer to finish than I wanted it to. I don't know when the next chapter will be up, and school starts next month, so I doubt they'll be any sort of schedule with this thing, besides whenever I have time to write it. I've got it all planned out, though, for the most part, so hopefully I get a few more up before classes start for real. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read and commented so far, and for everyone who might do so in the future. It means a lot, and your interest in this makes my day. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [my pal AJ](https://checkthanks.tumblr.com/) for reading this over. Any mistakes left are, sadly, my own.

“What do you mean you haven’t taken the ACT?” Jack asks, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at where Kent's hunched over Jack's desk, chewing on a pencil.

Kent looks up, and makes sure Jack sees him rolls his eyes. “Because we had a game in Halifax the day of the test, and I kept skipping the make-up ones because I didn’t want to take it anyway. Not all of us are fans of books and shit, Jack.” 

“That’s so irresponsible.” Jack says, laughter in his voice. 

Kent glares, but doesn’t deign to respond, instead turning back around and continuing to angrily erase the answers of his latest practice test before resuming chewing on the end of his pencil, glaring at the page. 

Jack huffs, and flops on his bed. Kent resumes tearing the poor pencil apart with his teeth, and frowning at the book in front of him. Jack watches him closely, watching as Kent’s face spasms when he gets an answer wrong, and then opens his mouth to speak. 

“Kent-”

Kent slaps the pencil down on the table and stares at Jack, looking as disgruntled as possible. “If you are not offering to do this for me, I’m gonna need you to not, bro.” 

Jack stifles a laugh at Kent’s expression, and then shakes his head. “I’m not gonna do it for you. I can help, though?” 

Kent considers him for a moment, and then sighs, flopping face-down on top of the book. He groans, and angles his head just enough to glare at Jack with one eye. “How did you deal with the Q and school at the same time when there were so many other,  _ better _ things to do?” 

Jack shrugs. “I like schoolwork. I would have gone to college if not for Juniors.” 

Kent sneers, and sits up once more, glaring at his workbook. If looks could kill, Jack thinks. “Why do people think English even matters. I speak it just fine. Why can’t that be enough?” 

“Because you also have to read and write it.” Jack drags his rocking chair over, and drops down next to Kent. “At least it’s your first language.” 

Kent mutters something under his breath that Jack knows is probably mocking him, and then sighs. “Alright then, Zimmermann. Show me how it’s done.” 

  
  


“-and that’s it.” Jack puts the pencil down, and smiles. 

Kent stares at the book, at the notes Jack had written down that trail between his own notes and the book’s instructions, and sighs. “This fucking sucks. Why are we doing this again?” 

Jack shrugs. “For if we ever want to go to college.” 

Kent raises an eyebrow. “Why would you want to do that? I mean, all you have to do is go back into the draft this June, I’m sure any team would still pick up the Wunderkind-” He stops, noticing the dark look that’s come over Jack’s face.

“I’m not going to do that.” Jack says, and then turns back the book. His voice is dead, flat. “So do you understand it now?” 

Kent swallows, and nods. “Yeah.” 

Jack sits back in the rocking chair, and begins picking at his nails, ignoring Kent’s curious look. Kent sighs quietly and looks back at the book. He  _ doesn’t _ understand it, but talking to Jack was like playing with live wire, and he really didn’t want to set him off again. 

“You don’t actually understand it, do you?” Jack’s voice is stabler now, with more inflection. He’s gotten better at pulling himself out of his own head, Kent notes, but he’s still not great. For all of a month Kent’s been staying with Jack, and Jack’s already had multiple panic attacks. But he goes to therapy now, and Kent tries to distract him as much as possible, so it’s getting better. 

He hopes it is, at least. 

“No.” Kent says, frustrated. 

“Here, try this.” Jack leans back in, and picks up the pencil again, but not before giving Kent a small smile. One that Kent hopes means that he’s okay. Kent shakes off introspection at the smile, and goes back to trying to understand what the fuck an adverb is. 

  
  


“Coach Pee Wee with me,” Jack asks, the day after Kent gets his scores back from the ACT. He got a 25. Jack got a 29, without the extra studying Kent needed. He’s trying not to be too jealous. They both finished their last college application at midnight last night, still months ahead of the deadline. Jack wanted it out of the way, and Kent just wanted to stop talking about  _ school _ for a hot second.

The puck slips off Kent’s stick in his shock, and he looks up at Jack as the other goes shooting past him, the puck stolen away and bouncing off of his own stick. 

“What?” 

“Coach Pee Wee with me.” Jack says, landing the puck right in the center of the two cones they set up to determine the goal when they couldn’t locate a real one. 

Kent skates in a lazy circle, tapping his stick against the ice every so often as Jack makes the puck bounce up and down off the end of his own. “Why.”

“It’ll be fun.” Jack passes him the puck, and skates over to stand in front of him. “Why not?”

Kent’s confused. He stares at Jack, looking for something in Jack’s eyes that’ll tell him more than Jack’s words. “What about college?” 

Jack shrugs. “We already turned in our applications. Now we wait. What else are we going to do in the meantime?” 

Kent skates backward with the puck, avoiding Jack’s stick. “I dunno, hang around?” 

Jack rolls his eyes. “You’d be bored in a week. We need something to do while we wait for our acceptance letters.” 

_ Your acceptance letters _ , Kent thinks, but doesn’t say. Jack had a great GPA, and a great ACT score. He’d done more volunteering than Kent, and looked way better on paper than Kent ever could. Kent was just praying that they’d get into at least one of the same schools. Jack was hoping Samwell, which boasted a price about twice that of all the state schools Kent had convinced Jack to apply to. If he got in, he’d need a scholarship. “Okay, but why peewee? We could, like, get jobs or something. Like normal teenagers.” 

Jack snorts. “Since when have we been normal teenagers?” 

Kent shrugs, passes the puck back to Jack, and then slides next to him, bumping their shoulders. Kent smiles at him, devious, and Jack smiles back, albeit reluctantly. “If you really want to coach Pee Wee, I’ll join you.” He leans closer, pulls Jack in by his t-shirt. He’ll never get over the fact that Jack never gets cold, even when he’s going from eighty degree summers to forty degree ice rinks. Kent’s fingers are chilled when he places them on Jack’s cheek. “Okay?” He says, barely above a whisper. 

Jack’s lips purse, his eyes flicking over Kent’s shoulder. “We’re alone, Jack.” Kent says. “Remember? The whole rink to ourselves, for an hour.”

Jack breathes out, and meets Kent’s eyes. “Yeah, I remember.” 

“So kiss me, stupid.” Kent waits for Jack to meet him halfway. It’s longer than normal before he does. His lips are cool, and Kent smiles against them. “See, not so hard.” 

Jack doesn’t smile, but nods, once. “Yeah.” 

His voice is weird, but Kent brushes it off.  _ Jack’s fine _ , he thinks, and skates backward. “See if you can’t catch me.” He says, turning and pushing forward, and, like his body is a coiled spring, rocketing forward. He hears the scrape of Jack’s skates behind him, and for a minute, everything’s forgotten but the ice, and Jack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been eight months. I'm... really sorry about that. The good news is I'm hoping to get back on a semi-regular schedule, maybe once a month updates amidst other writings. I am still a student, though, so don't take my work for it. I'll try my best!
> 
> And, if you have any questions/concerns/want to scream about Check! Please with me, come visit me on [my tumblr.](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/) See you guys soon!


	4. Chapter 4

Jack’s been checking the mailbox at least three times a day for the past week, and getting more frantic by the second.

Their college letters are supposed to be coming this week. They applied to all the same ones. Quinnipiac. St. Cloud. Boston University.

Samwell.

They’ve already received word on all of them except for Samwell, which is Jack’s first choice. Quinnipiac wanted Jack, but not Kent, so that was right out. St. Cloud accepted them both, but Kent didn’t get any scholarships to there, which moved it to the maybe pile. BU rejected them both, but neither of them particularly cared to go there, anyway.

They were waiting on Samwell. Jack was _praying_ for Samwell, and wouldn’t shut up about it, reciting all the team stats, all the pros and cons of going there. His desk was littered with post-its, and he’d filled half a notebook on player profiles and team history.

Kent had stopped caring a while ago. He was only going for Jack, and to play hockey again, and so it didn’t matter as long as they both got into the same school and Kent could afford it.

“You know, we could try again next year if it doesn’t work out,” Kent says, interrupting Jack’s latest recitation of Samwell facts and figures. “There’s a lot more schools than the ones we tried for that I’m sure would be happy to have the first and second round picks on their teams.”

Jack looks horrified. “We’d have to wait, though.”

Kent shrugs. “So?”

“So we’d have to _wait_. Don’t you want to get back on the ice?” Jack looks at him like he’s speaking another language. “Besides, getting a degree is going to be a good thing for us. We’ll have a backup plan.

“We don’t _need_ a backup plan,” Kent scoffs. “Once we’ve graduated we’ll be going straight back to hockey.”

Jack frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“I _do_ know that, Jack. That’s our plan, isn’t it?” Kent tips his chair back, and adjusts his hat so it doesn’t fall off his head. “Go to school, graduate, and play hockey. That’s always _been_ our plan.”

Jack stands, and starts pacing. “Sure, sure. So we need to talk about schools so we can compare. There’s other ways we could help you pay for St. Cloud-”

“I’m not letting you pay for me.” Even the insinuation that Jack might pay for his own education pisses him off. If Jack’s going to drag him into this, it’s going to be on his own terms, and his own money. He’ll pay off the debt when he gets his signing bonus.

“And Samwell has a good rate for scholarships per student,” Jack barrels on, ticking off the same points he’s been saying for weeks now on his fingers. “But their team is not as good, so we’d need to weigh that our too, and-”

Kent cuts him off. “Why are you so _fucking eager.”_

Jack stops talking, and the room is quiet. “Because,” Jack is subdued, his voice soft, strained. “For the first time in my life, I can be normal.” Kent can tell it’s taking him a lot to even say that much, but he doesn’t feel like being nice. Not right now, not after all the concessions he’s had to make over the last few months he’s not going to let Jack _bulldoze him into paying for college-_

It makes Kent angrier, when any other time, Jack’s honesty would have made him more honest too. “What the fuck is so cool about being normal? We had the entire world at our feet, and we gave it up to be _college kids."_

Jack looks at him with steely eyes. “You gave it up. I didn’t have a choice.” He stands, and runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “My entire life I’ve been expected to be some hockey prodigy, and for the first time I might get a chance to be something more Bad Bob’s son, or Alicia Zimmermann’s son. I can just be… Jack.” Kent can see him fighting for the words, and they sound rehearsed, like it’s something he’s been saying in therapy.

Kent tries to sympathize, but he can’t bring himself to, not right now when Jack is doing nothing but making him angry.

The way he sees it, Jack grew up with money, and fame, and he didn’t have to work hard for anything. His skates were never hand-me-downs, and he didn’t ever try to convince his parents to let him stop skating so money wouldn’t be so tight. He never had to see his mom hunched over the table, calculator in hand running numbers over and over again, her voice breaking as she talked to herself because she didn’t know Kent was there, and-

He’s mad. “You’re an asshole, Jack.” Kent stands, and shoves the chair back into Jack’s desk. “You’ve got so much going for you, and you threw it away.” In typical fashion, he goes for the jugular, and leaves before he should, leaves Jack alone, with that left hanging in the air.

Jack’s look is burned into Kent’s memory for the rest of the night.  
  


They don’t speak for a week. In any other house, it would be hard to avoid someone for that long, for that well, but Jack’s like a ghost. Kent didn’t ever think it would be possible to miss someone who lives on the other side of a wall, but the reality of that has been shoved in his face now.

Their silence is broken by the arrival of two envelopes, with the Samwell seal in the corner.

Jack brings knocks on his door, and holds up the envelopes when Kent opens it. “These came.”

Kent steps to the side and lets him in, but doesn’t say anything.

Jack hands Kent his, and grips his own. Kent looks at his, and then sticks a finger in the corner to rip it open.

Jack does the same, and he reads in silence. Kent watches for a reaction.

“I got in.” Jack says first, meeting Kent’s eyes. There’s hurt there still, but so, _so_ much joy, more than Kent’s ever seen from Jack. He looks relieved.

Kent had opened his letter, but not pulled it out yet. Despite their early fight, and all his attempts to pretend he didn’t care about going to school and didn’t care about whatever was in there, his stomach was in knots. College was something Kent Parson had never expected would be in his future, and now it could be sitting right before him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Jack purses his lips. “For yelling, and for being an asshole. I shouldn’t have… said, any of that.” Kent’s fingers brush the ripped edges on the envelope. “Whatever’s in here, whatever the result is, I want you to… to know that.”

Jack nods, eyes flicking between Kent, and the envelope. “Thank you.”

“You’re my best friend,” Kent blurts out. “So I’m sorry.”

Jack huffs. “Okay, okay.” He sounds exasperated, but he’s smiling. Kent can work with that. “Thank you. Will you open your letter now? Apology accepted, get on with it.”

Kent snorts, and pulls the letter out.

_Dear Mr. Parson,_

_It is our pleasure to inform you of your acceptance to the Samwell Class of 2015. Penitus Potes de Fonte Sapientiae!_

_Among the thousands of applicants who applied this year, we hand-picked only the best, of which you were a part. Samwell University prides itself on its distinguished student body made up of people just like you from all over the world._

_Attached is a letter detailing your next steps in the application process, as well as the results of any scholarships or grants you applied to during our application process. Please fill out and return the admissions acceptance online by May 1, 2011._

_Once more, we offer you the utmost congratulations for your acceptance, and are excited to see you in fall._

_Regards,_

_Samwell University Dean of Students”_

Kent flips the page over, and scans his eyes down, first fast, and then slow. “I got in,” he says, meeting Jack’s eyes. “I got in _with_ a scholarship.”

Jack whoops, and shoots his arms up in the air, his own letter crumpled in his fist.

“Full ride!” Kent throws his letter down and he and Jack embrace, laughing loudly. For the first time since the hospital, since juniors and even before that, Kent feels happy.

He’s going to Samwell, and he’s going at Jack’s side. Whatever comes next is easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have way more plot, I promise. 
> 
> Also, sorry for not updating for like, six months. Life, you know. I'm gonna try and start updating every other Sunday or so, and I have people that are Holding Me To That now, so. We'll see.
> 
> Come talk to me on [on tumblr.](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of a racier scene in here (nothing sexual happens, but it's def not PG). If you want to skip it, it goes from "Jack snorts and stands, heading for their closet. “Thrifty.” He pulls his shirt off, and then turns to Kent. “I guess it’ll be good to have someone I know, in my classes.”" to "When he comes back, Gossip Girl is back on, and they don’t talk about it."

Kent heaves another box off of Jack’s truck and wipes a hand across his sweaty forehead. He turns to Jack, and whacks him in the shoulder.

Jack looks at him, confused. “Ow?”

“Did you pack fucking rocks?” Kent asks, kicking at the box on the dolly with his foot.

Jack snorts, and settles a box on top of it. “No. Books.”

Kent rolls his eyes, and pulls back the dolly with a huff. This is their last load of boxes, and then they have all of an hour before going to the rink. Kent’s already imagining how exhausted he’s going to be at the end of day, and how is kicking himself for not fighting to move into the dorms early.

But Jack had wanted the “full college experience,” which unfortunately included move-in day, with hundreds of other kids. Bad Bob and Alicia had offered to come with them, but they insisted they had this. Kent was just glad it was only athletes moving in for now, and not the entirety of campus.

So here he and Jack were, at the form reserved strictly for freshman. The air had a kind of energy he didn’t expect it too, tense but excited, but scared, too.

“Kent!” Kent turned away from where he was staring at the building, and caught the keys Jack threw at him. “I’m gonna park the truck.”

Kent saluted Jack, and then dragged the rest of their stuff into the building. They were on the first floor, thank _god,_ and right near the West entrance. Each student was given a key card to get into the building.

Except.

His is in Jack's truck.

He sighs, loudly, and drags the boxes over to the shade. There were enough other people around that someone was bound to come see him and offer to let him in in due time.

“Need help?” _Bingo._  Kent spins, and comes face to face with a tall, blonde girl. She’s wearing a white visor, and swinging a keychain that said “SAMWELL TENNIS” on it back and forth.

Kent nods. “Yeah, please. Left my shit in the car.”

She laughs. “Freshman?” Kent nods again. “Happens to the best of us.”

Kent pulls the dolly inside as she holds the door open for him, and makes a beeline for his room, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

Their shared room was a triple-as-double, and Kent was thankful for it. Jack had brought a small bookcase and a TV, and their hockey bags alone took up half the closet. But it was cozy, and all theirs.

Kent unloads the last of the boxes and returns the dolly to the front desk of their building. When he gets back, Jack’s standing in the doorway, talking to the tennis girl from before. He looks uncomfortable, and Kent can tell he’s trying as politely as possible to edge his way out of whatever conversation he’d been trapped in. Kent laughs under his breath, and jogs closer. “Hey, again.”

Jack looks relieved. Tennis girl smiles at him. “This your roommate?”

Kent nods. “Yep,” he said, popping the p. “And resident conversationalist, if you couldn’t tell.”

The girl laughs. “I couldn’t.” She smiles at both of them, and then caught sight of their hockey bags. “You guys on the hockey team?”

They nod in unison. “Nice.” She sticks out her hand to Kent. “Camilla Collins. Women’s Tennis Captain.”

Kent takes her hand, and Jack does the same when it’s offered to him. “Nice to meet you.”

She flashes them one more sunny smile, and steps back. “I’ll see you guys at the all-campus athletics meeting. Don’t miss it!”

They wave at her as she walks away, and then Jack ushers them back inside. He looks stressed. Kent shoves him down onto his bed, and folds his arms across his chest. “Breathe.”

“Someone recognized me,” Jack said a moment later, hands clenched in his air as he drew deep breaths inwards.

Kent tosses him a water bottle from the case they’d bought, and pulled up a chair across from him. “That’ll happen.”

Jack pulls deep gulps from the bottle until it’s almost empty, and then sets  it on the ground. “I wanted… To be anonymous.”

“We both knew that wasn’t going to be an option.” Kent leans forward, and makes eye contact with Jack. “Do you want to leave?”

Jack reels back, horror crossing his face. “What?”

Kent repeats himself. “Do you want to leave?”

Jack shakes his head. “No, why-”

Kent leans back. “Then get over it.” Jack purses his lips, and half-glares at Kent, before sighing and standing.

Kent doesn’t like being harsh with Jack, would have preferred to soothe his anxieties over with something softer, but he doesn’t know how. Kent wasn’t that kind of person.

Jack picks up a box cutter and begins opening boxes. Kent throws on music, and they work in silence for the rest of the afternoon, until the athletics meeting. By then, Jack’s hands have finally stopped shaking, but he’s still casting anxious looks at everyone they pass. It’s better than it could have been, but still not great. Kent’ll take it, though.

 

 

Their first practice was grueling, and long. The entire first week, in fact, was pure conditioning and strength training, and the only time they even touched the ice was on the last day for sprints. They came home every day drenched in sweat with every muscle in their bodies aching. It had been less than a year ago that they were in juniors, but the only hockey they’d played since then was peewee, and the occasional one on one.

They were still almost two weeks out from school, and a week from orientation. Kent wasn’t as excited for school as he was to play hockey again. School wasn’t his thing. Hockey was.

Jack, however, had picked out the classes he was going to register for, had made a list of all the books he would need, and filled his desk with supplies. Jack had asked him more than once now if Kent had picked his own classes, to which Kent always responded in the negative.

After their last practice of the week, they were given the weekend off, but were told under no uncertain terms that they still had to get their weekend exercises done. Kent was glad that, at least for now, weekend exercises only consisted of running a few miles and doing some light stretches. He didn’t think his body could handle more heavy exercise on the weekends this early on.

Jack, ever the morning person, and ever the overachiever, did his main running in the morning, and said it was to help him figure out the layout of campus, and then a small conditioning routine and a cooldown run in the late afternoons.

Kent chooses the much simpler option of using the dorm’s gym, and if he ignores some of the other exercises, well, no one has to know.

He’s laying on his bed when Jack came back from his cooldown run that Saturday afternoon, watching Gossip Girl on their shared TV, and scrolling through Instagram mindlessly. He makes a noise of greeting when he hears Jack come in, and then winces when Jack tosses him a book that just barely misses his laptop.

“Hey!” Kent glares at Jack, and picks up the book. “What the fuck, dude.”

Jack pulls out his earbuds, and tosses his iPod on his desk. “Pick your classes.”

Kent flips through the book, which he realized now was the Samwell course catalog, and sighed. “Why can’t I just take the same ones you’re taking?”

Jack frowns at him, puzzled. “Why would you? I’m going to be a history major.”

Kent shrugs. “I mean. It’s all core stuff right now, right?”

Jack spins his desk chair around and straddles it, facing Kent. “Don’t you know what you’re going to major in?”

Kent shrugs again. “I dunno. History, I guess?”

Jack’s confused look gets only more confused. “Why?”

“S’good as any other. Why does it matter what I major in when I’m just going to play hockey after I graduate anyway?”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, and makes a face when he realizes it’s drenched in sweat. “You don’t know for sure. What if you have to get a job?”

Kent rolls his eyes. “I _do_ know, thank you. And I like history. Battles and all that shit. S’cool.”

Jack stares at him, and then shrugs. “If that’s what you want,” he says, but he sounds more resigned than anything.

Kent tosses the course catalog onto his desk, and scoots to the edge of his bed. “Besides, this was we can share textbooks.”

Jack snorts and stands, heading for their closet. “Thrifty.” He pulls his shirt off, and then turns to Kent. “I guess it’ll be good to have someone I know, in my classes.”

Kent’s not paying attention any more to what Jack’s saying, eyes caught on the V of his hips peeking through above Jack’s athletic shorts. He stands, and walks over. ‘Hey.”

Jack looks down at him. “Hi?” He’s smiling, but confusedly. “What’s up?”

Kent steps closer, slotting himself hip to hip with Jack, and leans in. “Hey,” he says, quieter this time.

“Oh,” Jack says, dropping the shirt he’s holding. Kent pulls Jack’s hands closer and settles them on his own hips. “Kenny,” Jack mumbles, voice gone rough, too hesitant for Kent’s liking. But his pupils are blown wide, and he’s leaning closer to Kent already, and Kent smiles despite himself, proud of what he’s doing to Jack.

Jack’s lips meet his own, easily, and Kent’s hands find themselves tangled in Jack’s hair. Kent steps further, until Jack’s back is pressed to the wall.

Kent’s mouth is hungry on Jack’s, pushing for more, and Jack gives it to him. Kent sucks in a sharp breath as their lips part, Jack going immediately for the curve of Kent’s neck. Jack’s teeth scrape against the soft skin there, and Kent bites his lips, smothering a groan.

His fingers flex in Jack’s hair, and he presses a knee against Jack’s crotch. Jack gasps in response, then freezes. Jack pulls back, looking like a painting Kent would be happy to wake up to every morning for the rest of his life.

“I have to take a shower,” Jack mutters, eyes flicking away from Kent’s.

Kent presses closer and tilts Jack’s head back to face him. “Do you?”

Jack licks his lip, and nods, a small jerk of his head. “Yeah, Kenny-”

Kent steps back, hands falling back to his own side. “I get it.”

Jack flashes him a rueful smile and grabs a towel from their closet as he scuttles past Kent.

When he comes back, Gossip Girl is back on, and they don’t talk about it.

The next week, Kent signs up for all the same classes as Jack, and throws himself into hockey in a way he hasn’t since he was still trying to prove he was better than Jack at their first Q practice, before he realized he and Jack would be better together than they ever were apart.

Jack avoids him for the rest of the weekend, after what Kent calls “The Incident,” but he seems back to his normal self on Monday.

Except he won’t let them space between them shrink to anything less than a friendly distance, and Kent can’t figure out why.

But he doesn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing again, school is hard and I'm dying.
> 
> Hope you liked this one, and expect another one before the end of November!


End file.
